


Sour Times Part 3

by forwhenmybrainhurts



Series: Sour Times [3]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Abusive Relationships, BDSM, Blood, Blood Drinking, Drinking, F/M, Fae Magic, Fae manipulation, Glaistig Original Character, Heartache, Human Sips, Japanese Culture, Kelpie Smith - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Mental Instability, Mentions of dreams, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not too heavy, One character storyline, Original Character Death(s), Potential Break-Up?, Seduction, Selkie Trott - Freeform, Sex Club, Sexual Content, Shibari, Sjin - Freeform, Sphinx Tom Clark - Freeform, Swearing, Urban Magic Yogs, Weapons, Yokai Sjin, Yuki-Onna Nina-Serena, fae, gargoyle ross - Freeform, mentions of gambling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwhenmybrainhurts/pseuds/forwhenmybrainhurts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From Smith's perspective.</p>
<p>Things are falling apart in the kelpie's home life, but does he find something to keep him occupied? Or is there more to the opportunity than he knows?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/queen_zombie/playlist/2SXK3EpfmeV18PcW1oDP88">Here</a> is Smith's playlist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sour Times Part 3

On the night Smith had met Nina-Serena - and saw the glaistig - curiosity got right into him, to the point where his senses led him to the casino on St Julian’s Road, where he caught the faint smell of iron. He had wanted to go home and tell Trott all about it straight away. Besides, making Nina-Serena wait a little longer than necessary would have been fun. However, there was a conversation to be had, before the glaistig disappeared without a trail to follow.  
His tongue came out to taste the air. The metallic flavour ignited his thirst. It had become definitely stronger in the last few seconds. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, and his path was revealed to him. Opening his eyes again, Smith walked round the back of the building. A fresh kill lay next to a large skip, full of old cardboard and plastic advertising. The man was sitting as upright as he could be, being dead and all, and Smith imagined how close the glaistig must have been to her prey when he died.  
The smell of blood was starting to cloud Smith’s mind. It smelled so satisfyingly inviting, and the kelpie recalled the last kill he had made. It was over two weeks ago. However, Smith couldn’t let himself any nearer. There was no telling that is wasn’t some sort of trap.  
Turning away, the kelpie’s nose led him to a small concrete yard, where three cars and a van had been parked. The glaistig was waiting for him, blood covering her chin and most of the front of her loose fitting green shirt. It hadn’t quite reached as far as her skirt, which was so long it brushed the ground, and shimmered green and silver. It floated with every motion she made, like the ripples of a pool. Smith found it hard to ignore.  
The glaistig was leaning against the side of the van, staring at Smith and sucking on her blood-covered fingers. Her hair was dusty blonde, long, and constantly threatened to cover her face in untidy curls. Some of them were stained red.  
Smith breathed out, heavily. “Fuck it,” he whispered, walking over to the glaistig and letting her put her other hand towards him, opening his mouth to relish a finger. As soon as the taste of blood hit the back of his throat, he craved more. Taking her hand in his, he wordlessly begged for her to allow him to feast on as many fingers as he could. She smiled wickedly as she obliged.  
There wasn’t enough. He had to have more. Of course, the body was lying only a few metres from them, but Smith had managed to somehow forget it. He wanted more, but only from her. Tracing his tongue over her palm to clean it, he looked hungrily to the glaistig’s other hand. She had already licked the blood away. However, liquid red was still over her chin, neck and chest.  
Before Smith knew what he was doing, his mouth hotly closed around the glaistig’s; his teeth and tongue devouring everything they could, before savouring every drop that had escaped her mouth.  
As Smith scoured her neck, daring to let his teeth trace the skin now and then, he felt the glaistig let out a low chuckle. He was suddenly back in the yard, very aware that he had almost let himself be seduced. He immediately pulled back, blood sitting on his lips and teeth. He lapped it up, the sharp yet so wonderful taste slowly coating the back of his throat for the last time. He stared at the glaistig who was still grinning at him, as he held onto the taste for as long as he could. His chest was heaving with the pull of her.  
“At least give me your name,” Smith regained composure.  
The glaistig smiled even wider and laughed again. “I should have guessed a kelpie would not be so easily coerced.”  
There was some level of pride at her words, but Smith wondered if another of his kind would have even approached the glaistig in the first place. He decided to stay silent, and see if he got an answer to his question.  
“People just call me whatever the fuck they like,” the glaistig stated. “I don’t give a shit what your name is either. I want to call you something like ‘Redmane’, but you look more like a ‘Colt’ to me.”  
The insult did not help the kelpie’s mood. He had been trying to be nice, after all.  
“Fhliuch then,” Smith said, shortly, using a word from their old language to describe a puddle.  
The smile faded from the glaistig’s mouth finally. “I’m anything but wet, Colt. You may get to learn that, the way your mouth runs.”  
Smith turned his fury against the glaistig. He barred his teeth at her in a taunting smile. “I learn quickly,” he responded. This clearly surprised the glaistig, and she couldn’t hide her amusement.  
She sighed and asked, “What did you follow me for?”  
It was Smith’s turn to be surprised. “Well, because you’re not so different from me. I know pretty much every freshwater fae in the city, so I should know you, but I don’t.”  
“Who says I live in the city?” the glaistig questioned quietly.  
Smith shrugged. “You looked so comfortable in Nina-Serena’s club, I thought you must go there a lot.”  
“Oh, I do, Colt.”  
Smith bit his tongue and flared his nostrils. The glaistig smiled.  
“But I don’t live in the city. It’s too loud and too,” she paused, looking Smith up and down. “Ugly.”  
Without realising, Smith ran his fingers through his hair, and looked towards the ground. He felt uncomfortable, yet oddly he didn’t want to leave.  
“Call me Pippa,” the glaistig said, soothingly. Smith looked back at her, she was apologetic and friendly finally, yet there was still a mischief in her eyes that the kelpie really didn’t like.

He and Pippa had talked, and despite Smith’s dislike of her, the small disappointed knot in his insides saying that she wasn’t going to be easy, and the very real prospect she would try and mess the situation up somehow, she had agreed to be employed by Nina-Serena and work with Smith to try and turn the club’s business back around.  
“What can I say? I love the place,” she had said.  
“Naturally. Easy pickings, right?” Smith asked.  
Pippa smiled crookedly. “It’s partly that. I can get a man anytime, anywhere. But we need a place like that. We need Nina-Serena, we need that gorgeous building.” She shrugged before confirming, “I’ll help you.”  
Their abrupt meeting had been far from what Smith had in mind, and he was a little embarrassed about it. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he’d let himself get carried away on the taste of Pippa. That sort of thing never happened to him, but then he didn’t often come across fae with magic so similar to his.  
“I was just testing the waters, if you’ll pardon the expression,” Pippa explained. “I wanted to see how far you go. You were hungry, no?”  
Smith reflected on the question. He was hungry for a lot of things that were so far from his reach, that he wanted to scream. Blood, pain, lust, relief, the hunt, explosions, Ross. No amount of time sitting by the river drinking whiskey was helping, though it was never going to. He needed something to resuscitate his spirit. Usually he’d rely on Trott for that, but something was missing. It was almost like the selkie wasn’t bothered.  
“It’s been a while,” the kelpie nodded.  
“Do you want to hunt?” The question sounded like metal on metal.  
Smith’s appetite was immediately awakened, and he turned away to repel it.  
Pippa obviously saw this and asked, “Not taken a vow against killing or something, have you?” she laughed.  
Smith looked back at her, a little lost in his tension.  
“No,” he said, simply. He couldn’t tell her that it was actually due to him being unable to enjoy any moment of it since Ross had been gone. It was as though he felt guilty about doing something remotely fun, knowing Ross wasn’t going to be at home afterwards.  
“Whatever,” Pippa sighed. “At least help me with the ritual.”  
Smith wondered if it would always be like this; neither of them having to say exactly what the other meant. Pippa knew that Smith would know what she was talking about. And he did.  
They adorned the body of the man Pippa had killed with weeds and other herbs before sending it to the bottom of the river, chanting protective spells. It was only fair to the souls of those gone, and meant that no nasty remnants might come back for any type of revenge.  
“Someone has your bridle,” Pippa rather blatantly observed.  
Smith stared at her. Not only was it a rather rude thing to say when you’re trying to get to know someone, but there was a tone in her words which the kelpie wanted to shiver at.  
“Yes, they do. So?”  
Pippa shrugged again. “Just thought one like you wouldn’t let themselves belong to anyone,” she was so sardonic in her tone that Smith finally bit back.  
“For your information, I belong to someone I want to belong to. He belongs to me in turn.” The kelpie realised his silly mistake as soon as he saw the glaistig grin again.  
“Fair enough,” she stated.  
Smith quickly changed the subject, licking his lips and crossing his arms in defence against her. “So, do you want to come to the club tonight?” He asked.  
Pippa’s smile turned apologetic once more, as she realised her offence, “Sure,” she replied.

The two parted ways, and Smith vented some of his confusion and frustration at the casino. Why had she seemed so keen to undermine him, yet quick to show she was willing to help? The kelpie wondered how sane she was.  
“Then again,” he said to himself, “a little madness makes everything more interesting.”  
After asking Tom the sphinx to join him, Smith found himself a lot calmer. Tom had such a cool about him that was infectious. Rather than getting into a high-stress game of Blackjack or Roulette, the two sat together at adjoining slot machines, working their way through a pot of coins each, and chatting about the prospects that might lay ahead of them. Tom seemed very curious about the things Smith might add to the club.  
“You mean it wasn’t kinky enough?” He asked.  
“Well, no. Think about it. If you have a room full of men who are mostly straight, with less and less to keep you coming back to it,” Smith paused, but the sphinx stared back, blankly. “Well, you’re going to lose interest, right?”  
Tom still made no motion that he had the faintest idea what Smith was talking about.  
“To be honest, I have long since given up trying to understand the way human sexuality works. As soon as I think I have it figured out, some other part gets added to the equation. I still find it extremely fascinating, however,” he explained.  
“So you just like to watch?” The kelpie laughed.  
Tom considered the joke for a moment. “You know, I’ve never watched. Maybe if I did, it would help.”  
Smith couldn’t help laughing even harder at the indifferent reaction of the sphinx. Sexual humour seemed to be as lost on him as the actual act itself. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you!” The kelpie exclaimed.  
Tom smiled back. “I know,” he said. “I just never quite got why sex is so funny. But then, I never got why it could also be so dangerous.” He turned to eye Smith, knowingly.  
“Ha ha!” Smith winked. “Think about it as simply the base of all humanity. They wouldn’t exist without it, and when they do it, it’s all they can think of in that moment. They can feel just about any emotion imaginable. Sometimes it helps numb it, sometimes it is the cause of that emotion. It’s intense.”  
“Sounds like I definitely need to pop inside the club at some point soon.” Tom’s eyes smiled, and it made Smith laugh once more. But the sphinx’s next question silenced him quickly. “What do you feel when you do it?”  
The kelpie swallowed before replying, “Mostly I just enjoy the way they look at me. Like I’m the only thing in the world.”  
“Before you kill them?” Tom’s mouth pulled up at the side in an almost smile.  
Smith turned to Tom and smiled back. “Before I kill them,” he agreed.  
Of course, Smith made Nina-Serena wait. It would be better for business to make her squirm a little longer. From Smith’s point of view anyway. The pot of coins lasted a good few hours, and the night staff were clocking off by the time Tom said goodbye. Smith imagined Trott boiling the kettle for morning coffees, and smiled to himself. He pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed.  
“What?”  
It wasn’t exactly the warm reception he had hoped for.  
“Woah there, beautiful. I only wanted to say good morning.”

A week or so later, Smith’s mood had plummeted. He had been given a harsh lesson in reality that he didn’t want. His family was strained, to the point where going home sometimes felt like the wrong thing to do. Trott was busy dealing with his own struggles, Sips was helping Trott, and Ross… Ross was still gone.  
The kelpie spent a lot of time at Nina-Serena’s club, or with Tom the sphinx, and that helped a little. But he couldn’t confide in anyone, and certainly couldn’t mention that his gargoyle was missing. He couldn’t trust any of them.  
Pippa had settled into her role very well. Smith never saw exactly what she did, but for every man she killed, two more would come along the next night. She’d work the room, find one she either liked especially, or didn’t like especially - Smith couldn’t tell which - and they would disappear together into one of the private rooms. The other men would observe this, jealously, and it meant they would come back whenever they could, if only to be the man of choice for Pippa.  
The magic she used meant that no one seemed to have any idea that those men would mostly go missing. After the couple retired together, they would not be seen again. Pippa would come down in the early morning, once everyone had left and Nina-Serena had locked the front door. Smith, Tom and the onna would be sitting in the long kitchen, which stretched across the back of the building, drinking fresh hojicha tea, and she would walk in to join them. Her hair was always freshly washed, soft and lighter. Her eyes would be intensely rich, as dark brown as the clay on the bed of the pools she came from, full of life. Her clothes rippled as she moved, even more than they had in the evening, and she would always be smiling. She was enjoying her contribution to the business far more than Nina-Serena had hoped for. It was working.  
However, every time she appeared in the morning, Smith felt a jolt of envy that he knew shouldn’t be there. He was envious of the good job she was doing. As though his part in all this was somewhat redundant, and that Nina-Serena might see this sooner rather than later. His dislike of the glaistig was growing.  
One of these mornings, Smith was feeling particularly sour, and Pippa walked into the kitchen, as fresh and sunny as ever.  
“Good night?” Nina-Serena asked, smiling slyly.  
Pippa hummed in response and flicked her hair, catching Smith’s eye for a moment.  
He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach.  
“How did business do?” Pippa asked.  
“Not bad,” Nina-Serena replied. “They all paid up for the length of time they were here. Trouble is, once you go upstairs, a lot of them leave.”  
Pippa cocked her head in surprise.  
“You’re that good, they don’t want anyone else,” Smith stated, the bitter sarcasm too subtle for anyone to hear.  
“No, it’s that we don’t have enough women,” Tom interjected, unaware of the joke.  
Smith shot an indignant look at the sphinx, but he didn’t see it.  
Pippa immediately held her hands up and exclaimed rather loudly, “I’m afraid women are not my thing. I don’t think I even know any mortal women.” She stared at Smith. “But there’s someone here who can bring women in. A bit of charm, and they’ll be tearing each other’s necks out to get through the door.” She smiled then, still staring at the kelpie, daring him to find an excuse to say no.  
The kelpie stared right back, keeping an indifferent expression, but his nostrils flared as he breathed deep, calming his anger.  
He could feel the gaze of the onna and the sphinx, as they waited for a response.  
“I’m a busy kelpie,” he said, challenging the glaistig, and leaning back slowly on his chair. His eyes concentrated on the mug of tea as he took a sip.  
“But you’re always here anyway.” Pippa commented.  
Grinding his teeth, Smith looked at Nina-Serena for an opinion. They had made an arrangement, agreed together and signed a contract that said Smith was a partner. He had stated that it was not his job to do what the glaistig was doing. He’d bring in the trade, but he wasn’t prepared to be an exhibit for people to come and see, or a celebrity, with people lining up for a chance to be with him.  
The onna knew this, but it seemed she rather sided with Pippa. She stayed quiet. So Smith spoke directly to her, making himself clear.  
“I agreed to improve the way the club works. That means better layouts, different music, not to be some sort of fucking Pied Piper for human women.” It was Pippa’s turn to flare her nostrils and grind her teeth. “That’s not how this works. I can spread the word. I know lots of women who know lots of women, but they won’t come along until things get better. I’m going home to bed, then I’ll come back early, and start making some changes.” The kelpie got up from the table, pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and made his way to the door, pushing past the glaistig, who refused to move to let him by.

Smith slept for a while in a boat belonging to a water nymph he’d known for years. There was no way he was going home with his mood being what it was. There would only be concerned questions, and it was the last thing Smith wanted.  
The nymph’s boat was moored on the east side of the city, just before the river became hidden by trees at the back of huge, expensive houses, and went on out of the city, and into the marshes. She used it to gather peat from the wetlands, as good as could be found in the country, for making potions for foresight, which she sold from the riverbank.  
The kelpie could sleep through anything, and he was in the bed inside the cabin, as the nymph sat on the wooden deck, reading ‘Women in Love’ with the small door open, welcoming any punters that came by. A late summer breeze wandered through off the water now and then, picking up strands of auburn hair and lifting them from the kelpie’s face.  
He dreamed that he was facing a church. It was dark and full of malicious intent if he would dare to enter it. However, he needed to get inside. There was something that he needed to liberate.  
The kelpie started awake, and was at first confused at his surroundings, expecting to see Ross’ face smiling down at him, holding a plate of food or a mug of tea, but of course the gargoyle wasn’t there, and Smith was in someone else’s bed.  
He sat up and helped himself to an apple from the nymph’s fruit bowl. She didn’t move, but her eyes flicked up over the top of her book to watch him. He took three large bites of the apple, and chewed it slowly, staring at nothing, but his mind was full of thoughts.  
No one embarrassed him like that. No one. Well, maybe Trott, but that was different. Trott was allowed, as long as the occasion called for it. Who did this glaistig think she was? Calling herself Pippa.  
“You know it’s short for Philippa, right?” the nymph had said during a short explanation as to why the kelpie desired her help.  
Smith had never cared for names, hence why his was so unimaginative. He rolled his eyes and shrugged to reply so.  
“And it means ‘friend of horses’.” The nymph paused.  
Smith responded with a glare of realisation.  
“She’s laughing at you constantly.” The nymph took a small sip of her blackberry wine, and waited for the fireworks.  
“Are you fucking kidding me?! I hate her. I fucking hate her!”

Insisting that Smith take a collection of some of her home brews as he left, the nymph straightened his jacket, as it had been shrugged grumpily over his shoulders.  
“Just don’t let her get to you. She’s dangerous. If you let her in, she will try and destroy you.”  
The kelpie blinked under his furrowed brow. What was she talking about? Let her in? Let her in where? But he knew better than to question a water nymph. They were full of nothing but ambiguity and possibility. Though they were always generous, good listeners. And made fantastic home brew.  
He’d gulped down several glasses by the time Pippa had arrived back at Nina-Serena’s. The room hummed with expectation, and the kelpie resented it more and more with every sip. Men of all ages clung to the walls of the large room; their hands would shake as they took offers of refreshments, and they licked their lips in agony of the wait. No women were there, other than the waitresses - who were strictly off-limits.  
When she finally walked into the room, it was as though she were floating on the surface of her pond. The green of her skirt reflected the light from the wall lamps. Whenever she walked into shadow, her brown eyes would still be seen like beacons - an obvious trait of a water fae - and they scoured the room with false friendliness.  
Smith sneered privately at all of them, and downed the remainder of his glass before heading through to the back of the room, towards the kitchen. Pippa caught his eye as he closed the door behind him. She winked, and it was impossible to tell the intention behind it.

Nina-Serena was sitting just outside the french windows, which were open to the broad veranda, and she thumbed through a catalogue of very contemporary and stylised photographs of shibari art, which Smith had procured from a shipment of products Trott had received for the shop a few days before. The kelpie knew she’d be interested. A glass of the nymph’s elderflower wine sat on a table to her left, beside a laptop. The onna had been researching further, by the look of it.  
“What do you think?” Smith asked as he pulled up his own chair to calm his stress in the evening breeze.  
“It was always something I thought of as meditative. The Samurai would use ropes to tie up prisoners, and it became an art form, like everything else they train in.” Nina-Serena paused and judged Smith’s interest before continuing. “We didn’t have prisons. Waste of resources. Prisoners would be tied up with rope made from hemp. Each Samurai has a different technique and set of knots, which is secret from everyone else. We’d go and see prisoners, just to look at the shibari.” The onna smiled with nostalgia. “I only knew of it becoming an erotic thing about two hundred years ago. I honestly thought it was a phase.”  
Smith imagined the onna standing in a small crowd, starkly obvious and looking exactly the same as she did now. She had revealed a little of herself, which had not happened before. The kelpie smiled at this before continuing the conversation.  
“It’s still pretty new here, I think.” The kelpie picked his words carefully. “The shop has only just started taking more than one order for the equipment. There used to be one customer working out of his house in Old Thorpe, but we send stuff to a few parts of the country now.”  
Nina-Serena nodded thoughtfully. “Where does it come from in the first place?” she asked, warmly.  
Smith shrugged. “I don’t deal with the logistics,” he avoided.  
Nina-Serena didn’t pursue any more.  
“Would you like me to invite the artist one night?” Smith asked, grateful for the onna’s discontinuation.  
“Yeah that would be really interesting, thanks.”

Over the next few days, fittings, furniture and furnishings arrived at Nina-Serena’s. They were stored in her office, ready for one big overhaul. Smith daydreamed about the sense of triumph he’d feel if he managed to turn the place around in one day. That would shut the glaistig up, he said to himself.  
He organised a launch party. The club was renamed. No longer called The Mirage Club, it was now called Wicked Temptation.  
“It sounds like a terrible pole-dancing club, or an opera metal band,” Nina-Serena complained at the suggestion.  
“Exactly,” Smith replied. “The seedier, the more attainable, and therefore you get more customers.”  
“No. Come up with something less shit.”  
Smith scowled at the onna as she walked out of the room, a red and green patterned kimono hanging off her forearms, and floating behind her as she turned the corner into the hallway.  
Sulking, he turned to his phone to research more tasteful words, and casually put his feet up on Nina-Serena’s table. He’d taken to walking around the building barefoot, finding the tiled and wooden floors a cool comfort. The cherry wood table threatened to be at an uncomfortable height, even for the kelpie, but he was defiant.  
He immediately knew Pippa had been listening, and sensed her peering around the doorframe. However, he said nothing, not wanting to have to deal with any of her shit, but knew it would be futile.  
After about half a minute of not really concentrating on what he was supposed to be doing, the glaistig swam into the office. Smith chose to continue to ignore her.  
“How about Saddle Up?” She joked in a low drawl, crossing the room slowly. “Or Riding Crop?” Smith could see her skirt rippling. “Or My Little Pony?” She was standing beside him. She lifted a leg to straddle the corner of the table suggestively. “Or Fuck Jockeys?”  
Smith saw red, but still refused to move.  
“Aw, am I being mean?” Pippa asked, effortlessly moving from the table to mount Smith’s thighs.  
He couldn’t ignore that. Throwing his phone onto the table, he turned his furious gaze to the glaistig and swung his feet off the table, intending to cause her to fall off his legs. However, she just floated gracefully, before positioning herself back on his lap, but this time with an otherworldly force. She pinned Smith’s arms against the back of the chair, and her face suddenly became its true form; terrifyingly full of power and murderous desire. The smell of pond water clouded Smith’s head.  
“You fucking piece of shit!” Pippa growled in their ancient tongue. “You walk around here, cock of the walk, as if you own something. You own nothing, Colt. You’re worthless. Your master knows it too. He parades you around at your parties, using you to get what he wants, and he’s going to dump you back in the river as soon as he’s done. It’s already started, hasn’t it?”  
The glaistig’s eyes shone with gleeful malice, but Smith didn’t see it. He only felt her hands securing him, and holding him down from eruption. No words of retort came, no angry teeth bared, he simply wanted to explode; to spray the painted office with his own blood. It would mix well with the cherry blossom, stark red against the snowy mountains.  
Smith’s head thumped with pain. Pippa was right, Trott had changed towards him, and things were changing for the worse - as far as Smith was concerned anyway. Trott and Sips had spent so much time together recently, who was to say that they weren’t making plans of their own?  
No, the bond and love between them was too strong. Smith’s arms flexed in defiance of Pippa’s.  
“Fuck you,” the kelpie spat. “You don’t know anything about me or who I’m with. Fuck, you don’t even know my name Pippa.” Smith placed a sardonic tone behind the glaistig’s name, to show that he disapproved of her choice.  
Pippa leaned back, yet still her hold was firm. She sighed as she moved against Smith’s thigh, and the kelpie felt a jolt in his veins as her mouth smoothed into a gloating smile. She had been waiting for this moment for a long time.  
“You call yourself Smith, for all the satisfaction it gives you. Your weird court includes a lazy human king with a crown made of ignorance and crudeness, and you’ve lost your favourite pet. Some family man you are.”  
Smith’s throat was sticky with disbelief and shock.  
“You’re always here because you can’t face going home anymore. This place gives you a purpose; something you haven’t had for a long time.” The glaistig leaned back in to pepper Smith’s ear with her hot breath. “I can give you what you need.”  
The scent of her was overpowering, and Smith almost pined for it when Pippa finally let him go and stood up. She left the room without another word, and Smith was left sitting in the cherry wood chair, his muscles shaking with fear and anticipation.

Smith didn’t see Pippa for the rest of the afternoon. He busied himself with phoning suppliers and picking at the corners of paint swatches with frustration. Unpacking some of the boxes was supposed to bring him some sort of pleasure, but he only sulked over the contents and as a result, he couldn’t do it for long. He decided to go home for the night.  
Neither Trott nor Sips were in the flat when he arrived, and Smith huffed with indignation. Usually when he was feeling this shitty, Trott would order in steak burritos and have a favourite film ready, as if he could sense Smith’s mood. But this time he wasn’t even home.  
Smith’s clouded mind became worse and worse, and his headache returned. Anything on the radio or television seemed to aggravate him further, and it got to the point where there was nothing left for him to do but collapse onto the large bed, take up as much room on it as possible, and stare at the artex plasterwork on the ceiling.  
He must have dozed, because he didn’t remember the sky turning dark. A noise in the hallway woke him, and he remained unmoving, listening to the sounds of his housemates, muffled through the wall.  
“You know it, Trott. You might be pocket-sized, but there’s no one who does what you do.”  
It was an intimate moment, and Smith immediately felt as though he was encroaching. He held his breath without thinking, and listened hard.  
“I’ve been doing it for decades. It never gets boring,” Trott’s low-pitched response was flirtatious, and full of life that Smith hadn’t heard for weeks.  
There was a pause in the conversation, but the sounds of movements in the hallway were obvious. Smith swallowed his envy and anger, and closed his eyes. He wanted to stop listening, to heave himself heavily off the bed to make himself heard, but a part of him also wanted to know what they would say next.  
“How do you kiss so good, Trott?” Sips breathed with lust.  
A half-laugh-half-moan replied, then some more loud kissing.  
“You need to pay attention to my beauty regime more, Sips. It would do you good to pamper yourself a bit.”  
The couple moved into the living room.  
“What are you trying to say, Trott? Holy shit, break it to me gently!”  
Trott laughed in a way that caused a lump in Smith’s throat. It had been so long since he’d heard it.  
There was more movement; taking off jackets and shoes, curling up on the sofa and turning on the television.  
“Don’t leave it too long until bedtime, will you?” Trott said suggestively.  
“Oh Trott, I couldn’t. I just need to see the latest episode before Mateo spoils it for me on the group chat. Sit with me.”  
The opening credits of a TV show started. Smith couldn’t remember the title, though he recognised the music. The kelpie imagined Trott resting his head on Sips’ lap, or maybe his shoulder. He would be reading something, or daydreaming, and enjoying the quiet of home. He didn’t know that Smith was still waiting to be found.  
Only a few minutes passed before Smith sat upright in alarm.  
“Fuck off! They can’t do that!” Sips exclaimed in alarm.  
It clearly became apparent that something on his show had upset him.  
“She’s dead?” Trott questioned.  
“Yeah!” Sips shouted with fiery disgust. “Now there’s nothing to watch for!”  
Trott’s calming voice blanketed the air, as it always did. “Well, there’s another twenty or so minutes. They might have another plan.”  
Sips mumbled, but it wasn’t long before he had lost interest entirely. He started a conversation instead.  
“Where do you think he goes? Just to that club?”  
Smith’s heart beat steadily. He was still sitting upright.  
“Yeah,” Trott replied, though it was unconvincing.  
“There’s something else going on. It’s not just about him trying to give you space to get better.”  
There was a pause. Smith hung his head a little, and imagined the grimace on Trott’s face as he picked his words.  
“He’s never had to leave me on my own, so I guess he’s just taken me literally. I’ve always been there for him, and now I’m not. He’s finding ways to cope.” There was another pause. “He’s angry with me.”  
Smith wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, but a descent of understanding fell upon him. Trott was right. Having someone who knows you better than you know yourself can be more powerful than love of any kind sometimes, and when it’s twisted, nothing hurts as bad.  
He was angry with Trott. How could he be letting it all happen, and not doing anything? As far as Smith could tell, the selkie hadn’t even left the flat for the past week, until today. Until his date with Sips.  
“And he’s upset with you,” Trott continued.  
“What have I done?” Sips asked, indignant.  
“Treading on his territory. Looking after me. Keeping face through all of this.”  
Again, Trott was right, but did he have to be so blunt about it? Smith frowned. He was even more angry now.  
Sips sighed loudly. “Well, if he has to act like a spoiled teenager to feel better, then let him.”  
“Exactly,” Trott agreed. “He’ll come back when he’s ready, and things will get better once Ross is home.”  
Smith was livid. The way Trott spoke the gargoyle’s name was as though he were at a summer camp. They had been talking behind Smith’s back for a while. His eyes turned dark, and he decided to wait.  
The kelpie heard the two of them kiss again, and move from the sofa. The TV turned off.  
“Bed?” Sips suggested.  
“Mm,” Trott replied.  
The hallway light turned off, and the usual fumble to find the door handle was followed by more kissing against it.  
“I love you,” Sips murmured against Trott’s lips.  
“Oh!” Trott gasped, as his water fae eyes adjusted quicker than Sip’s human ones.  
“Fuck me,” Sips added.  
Smith stood up from the bed, mouth open, and brows met in upset. He was taller than ever, and Smith saw a fear and awe in Trott’s eyes that he hadn’t seen for a while. The selkie was clearly half-expecting a great horse to appear in his bedroom.  
“Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction, mate,” the kelpie spoke in a hushed voice, before opening the sash window with ease and disappearing into the night via the small fire escape.

Smith couldn’t recall how he’d managed to arrive back at the club so quickly, but his shattered emotions meant he didn’t care who he passed in the street to get there. He would always wave towards Nilesy’s shop, in case the witch would spot him, he’d always eyeball the window display of his favourite thrift shop, he’d always pop his head round the door of Rythian’s to ask if he had any new potions to try. But this time he didn’t. There was only one thing on his mind.  
If he went with her, it wouldn’t feel so bad.  
“I need to hunt.” Smith caught Pippa just before her shift started.  
“Take your pick,” she gestured to the drawing room door.  
“No. I need to hunt,” Smith pressed.  
The glaistig processed for a second, then her eyes lit up with excitement.  
“Let’s go,” she said, low-voiced and full of intent.  
They went somewhere that Smith had never considered. It was a restaurant by the river, high-class and marketed to couples who had found a babysitter for the first time in months, and no longer knew what to do when they were alone together.  
“What are we doing-”  
“Shh!” Smith was cut off.  
He watched as Pippa glided to the long window and looked in.  
“Just in time,” she groaned.  
Smith’s breathing hitched in reaction to her aura. It was charged with sex and death. She turned back to Smith and stared at him. He couldn’t move. She walked to Smith, holding his gaze with hers. He thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she stood beside him and turned to the exit of the restaurant, expectantly.  
A couple came out into the chilly evening. A man and a woman. He wore a suit, and she wore a knee-length black dress with her shoulders covered by a red pashmina. They didn’t see the fae as they made their way arm-in-arm along the river walk. There was light conversation between the two of them, and Smith’s hunger was awakened by Pippa’s hand on the small of his back. The couple smelled good. They had eaten off each other’s plates and had put on their best underwear. They were going somewhere to fuck, but Smith didn’t want them to make it there. Pippa took his hand, and they followed the couple to the underpass. It was quiet and as still as a heavy summer night. The glaistig had put up a barrier of magic, to repel any passers by, and the couple felt it too. They stopped walking and turned to face the fae.  
They both looked alarmed at first, but the expression changed quickly.  
“Hi,” the man spoke first.  
“Hi.” Smith and Pippa responded in unison, but didn’t acknowledge it.  
There was a moment of silence. The man cleared his throat.  
“Can we help you?” he asked, calm and well-spoken.  
Pippa giggled convincingly, though Smith knew it was an act.  
“Well, it’s a little embarrassing, really,” she started. “My boyfriend and I were looking for a quiet place, if you know what I mean.” Pippa laughed again.  
Smith’s grin started at the side of his mouth, and went to cover his face as he moved to put his arm around Pippa’s shoulder, joining in the game.  
The couple shared their amusement.  
“Really?” the woman asked. “You haven’t got a non-public place to do that?”  
“Sure we do,” Smith replied. “But it’s lost its charm, you know?” He turned it on, and the air became warmer and a little hazy.  
The couple glanced at each other, and it was as though they had only just met.  
“Yeah,” the woman said. “We know.”  
“So, you guys thinking we could all just do it here?” Pippa asked, caressing Smith’s chest as she leaned into him and chewed her lip. She was staring at the man. He appeared positively famished as he looked back at her.  
Smith’s delicately lash-framed eyes blinked with arousal at the woman. He was egging her on to do something she’d never do if she hadn’t met the kelpie.  
“We will if you will,” she murmured, still a little unsure. Her partner questioned her with his expression.  
The kelpie’s face smoothed, and he shifted to face Pippa, his boots crunching the dry asphalt underneath with a satisfying acoustic in the concrete underpass.  
Smith no longer saw Pippa as he had done before; she was his equal, his companion, a member of his pack. They had one aim between them, and it seemed as though it was going to be nice and easy.  
Smith bent his head to the glaistig and kissed her hungrily, letting himself get lost in it. The two of them watched the couple slowly move closer to each other, apprehensive at first, but eventually mimicking the fae in front of them and kissing. However, they didn’t seem to want to concentrate on each other at all. As the man stooped to kiss the woman’s neck, she gave Smith a look to say she wished it were him doing it, and the man gave Pippa a look that said similar.  
The fae smiled to each other and moved apart.  
“What are your names?” Smith asked, quietly.  
“Ella,” the woman croaked, pleading with Smith to come closer. “Kinsley.”  
Smith made his way slowly, and Pippa followed, with her eyes on the man.  
“Luke,” he said, stepping towards Pippa. “Kinsley too.”  
“How about something a little crazy, Luke?” Pippa asked.  
“Yeah,” Luke replied, a little too quickly.  
“Yeah,” Ella echoed.  
Smith arrived at his conquest, and took her face in his hands before she fell completely under as he kissed her. Her red pashmina crumpled to the floor.  
Luke was watching the scene as though he were sitting in a seedy cinema, mouth open and trousers tightening. Pippa caressed his shoulder, and he faced her to let himself be seduced in the same way as his wife.  
Finding comfortable places to fuck on concrete is not the easiest task, but it didn’t seem as though anyone cared about grazes and dirt. Smith pushed the eager Ella against the wall of the underpass and nipped at her neck, teasing himself. Her dress was light and easy to get under, so Smith’s fingers worked her to a wet mess without any clothing being discarded. He had been right about the underwear, it was a thong, which felt lacy.  
Meanwhile, Pippa had done the same to Luke, pushing him back and playing with his keen erection. The husband and wife stood next to each other, backs against the wall, being pleasured by strangers, and seemingly oblivious to each other.  
“Do you always fuck them first?” Pippa asked, in their mother tongue.  
Smith laughed as his free hand came to his belt.  
“No,” he replied in English.  
He turned his attention back to Ella, and her eyes were already starting to roll in the back of her head.  
“You good, Ella?” His question had a tone of sarcasm. He knew what the answer would be.  
Her eyes snapped back to him. She clasped her hands around his neck and pressed her body as close to his as she could.  
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please, give it to me.”  
Smith grinned toothily, causing a look of dazed surprise on the woman’s face, which only seemed to last for a moment. He didn’t bother removing her underwear, but pulled the thong out of the way as he held one of the woman’s thighs in order to get to her. He fucked, and Ella disappeared into her dreamlike state again. Smith looked across to see both Luke and Pippa watching him. He enjoyed that.  
Luke was transfixed by the sight of his wife, by the sight of Smith, and by the aching need of feeling some relief himself. Pippa had stopped touching him, and was judging Smith like a teacher. It made him feel a little vindicated, if he was honest with himself. Being honest with himself was something he was going to strive to do more of, and he liked the way Pippa looked at him. He wanted to impress her.  
“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Luke moaned.  
Pippa turned her attention back to him, helping him undress, and planting tantalising kisses over exposed parts of his body, like she was building him up for something otherworldly. Luke’s breath shuddered and became more shallow with every touch of her lips on his skin.  
Smith watched him curiously. He pushed Ella’s cheek against the wall to turn her away, and stop the distraction. “Yes,” she moaned loudly in pleasure.  
Pippa took hold of one of Luke’s hands and lifted it. She traced her lips and tongue slowly from his bicep to his wrist. Her eyes flicked towards Smith, who was chewing his lip in anticipation of what she was about to do. He groaned inside Ella.  
Pippa’s tongue savoured the thin skin, and ran over the lines of his veins, before she bit down.  
“Ah!” Luke exclaimed, and watched in a mix of horror and fascination as his blood trailed out of the corners of the glaistig’s mouth.  
“Fuck,” Smith whispered. He pressed Ella’s face harder against the wall, and her whimpering became more forceful. She had no idea what was happening to her husband.  
Pippa drank zealously, the blood staining her hair and clothes.  
“Wait, what?” Was all Luke could manage alongside his gasps of pleasure and pain, before he fell to his knees. His eyes widened in shock, as he finally realised what was happening, and he collapsed completely, eyes closing and breathing slowing to almost silence.  
Ella shivered around Smith, and gave a cry.  
“Please!”  
“Fuck!” Smith shouted, before latching his teeth onto her neck, and turning the smooth noise of Ella’s climax into a garbled, choking sound of death.  
The fae finished their meals, then steadied their breaths together, wiping away the excess blood and beaming at each other.  
They decorated the remainder of the bodies and threw them over the short railing next to the river.  
“I can’t believe you fuck them,” Pippa commented. She objected.  
“What?” Smith asked, suddenly remembering that he didn’t like her.  
Pippa stared at him. “Well, I wouldn’t let one of them inside me,” she said with distaste.  
“That’s different. I fuck them.”  
“Are you really talking about anatomy? Is that why you choose to appear male? You fuck.”  
“No,” Smith protested. “That’s not what I’m saying. I fuck people as a woman too, you know.”  
“Oh really?” Pippa asked, derisively.  
“Yeah,” Smith pushed, not quite acknowledging the tone of the question. “I like to see them lose their heads. It’s like nothing else.” He wanted to make her see, to make her understand.  
However, she shuddered and made a rather insulting noise of disgust.  
“No way,” she said.  
Smith was angry and humiliated again. He started walking up river, using his long legs to his advantage.  
“Oh, come on Colt, I’m only messing!” Pippa called after him, but she stayed where she was, leaning against the railing and watching the kelpie disappear quickly into the darkness of the riverside walk at midnight.  
Feeling utterly used and alone, Smith went for a swim. He refused to acknowledge others he knew, making himself look as though he had somewhere to get to, but thankfully the river was quiet. The sensation of the water was soothing, and he swam as fast as he could against the current. It helped. When he had tired himself out and the pain had numbed, he sat on the bed and pulled at weeds. It was hard to tell what they were in the darkness. The artificial lighting of the city couldn’t penetrate the surface. Besides, it was dirty. It made him a little sad, as he had never really thought about it before.  
As he was contemplating resurfacing and laying on the bank until his hair dried, the vial of blood was caught in a current, and pulled at his neck enough for him to notice. He took it in his hand and stared at it.  
The first thing he noticed was how warm it was. It can’t have been from his body, his temperature had dropped as soon as he got into the water, as always. He was unaware of how much it illuminated his face, and into his vivid blue eyes, but a pearly luminescence came from the vial, and he watched it move around in its containment, unaffected by the river water around it. It was obscenely poetic, and Smith choked back tears as he imagined his gargoyle sitting in front of him, legs crossed, head leaning lazily on one hand, and tail absent-mindedly twitching behind him. He had a dreamy smile on his face, and his aquamarine eyes shone with patience, love, loyalty and wonder.  
Smith pondered as Ross’ features faded, and he let go of the vial again to swim upwards to the riverbank. Ross was never that pure. Sure, he looked it, but chisel away at some of that marble, and there was a soul in there full of anger, lust, greed, and fantastic dirty jokes. And that would be Kirin’s downfall, he thought.

As much as the moment had stuck a finger into an open wound, it made Smith hopeful. The power and magic in Ross’ blood was still there, undiminished. He was still alive and healthy, for sure. The kelpie dared to imagine that it also meant he was nearby, but wasn’t entirely sure of the chances.  
He spent the next day motivated and busy. He asked that the club be closed while renovation happened, to Nina-Serena’s agreement, and continued to try names out for the relaunch. It also meant that Nina-Serena gave Pippa a holiday of sorts, and she accepted gladly, much to Smith’s surprise. However, he couldn’t say he was in any way upset about that.  
Two weeks of solid work later, and the freshly painted drawing room was completed. It was now a cream colour on three walls, with the ceiling and feature wall a deep red. This wall housed a cream coloured bar, rather than waitresses walking in and out of the kitchen. It also gave the room a centrepiece, and it felt far less exposed. Cherry wood ran over the floor, complementing the red of the wall and the new sofas, bar stools and chairs. The chandelier light was adorned with red glass shades, and chains of red glass beads hung from the gold branches. The lights were on a dimmer, and it was soft and inviting. Other red lamps were placed at various points around the room, so it was optional for punters. The tables were the same cream as the bar and walls, and pin-up art decorated the blank spaces. It was simple, high-class and beautiful. The sound system would only play smooth and sexy jazz and electronic music, to keep the conversation flowing freely, whilst holding the mood.  
Smith scaled the central staircase with a sense of triumph as he was showing Nina-Serena the results of her investment. The hallway remained unchanged, apart from a coat of paint on the walls and varnish on the wood. The floor was cleaned until it was spotless, and rubber bottomed mats had to be put along it because people kept slipping.  
“I could just get people to take off their shoes when they come in; make it super specialist,” Nina-Serena suggested, but Smith gave her an indirect smile.  
“Some of the people I know like to wear very big shoes,” he responded vaguely, with a wink.  
“Filthy,” she joked, deadpan.  
Smith laughed and led the rest of the way up the staircase and to the upstairs rooms.  
The far two rooms were decorated in subtle white and lilac, with curtains trailing every place they could hang from. The beds were big enough for more than a handful of people, but the rooms were private and quiet. They had separate bathrooms included. Small, but thoughtful.  
The room next to those was a far more public affair, but with a similar mood. It was lit with soft spotlights in the ceiling, a black floor and walls, and comfy white chairs surrounded a large white bed in the middle of the room. There were no “Do Not Disturb” signs for this room, and it meant that punters could freely explore the different atmospheres of each space.  
Across the hall and past the restrooms was a room with a huge bath. Nina-Serena gasped. There was a space for belongings at one end, and two walls were covered in mirrors. The wall nearest the bath had a rather impressive fish tank set into it. It was clean blue in colour, and lit around the bath as well as having more subtle ceiling spotlights.  
“It’s not necessarily for sex, but more for foreplay,” Nina-Serena assumed. “After all, it’s hard to fuck in water, right?”  
“Speak for yourself,” Smith quipped.  
The penultimate room was decked out in more of Smith’s personal style, if he’d ever admit to having one. Two poles were raised above the dark purple floor tiles and black sofas lined the outside of a small dance floor. BDSM gear was on display in glass cabinets next to hooks and chains suspended from the ceiling at the other corner of the room.  
Smith chanced a glance at Nina-Serena’s reaction. Her bright eyes were shining with enthrallment. He allowed a proud stance.  
The walls matched the floor, and the ceiling had been lowered and covered in a plush black material.  
“To hide the uglier bits of the ceiling reinforcements,” the kelpie explained.  
“I thought that was part of the aesthetic?” Nina-Serena quizzed.  
“For some,” Smith replied. “Tell me you have a cellar?”  
Nina-Serena blinked at him.  
“Oh,” she realised. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, get on it!”  
Smith laughed.  
“You’re quite enjoying this, aren’t you?”  
Nina-Serena paused before responding.  
“It is exciting,” she admitted.  
The last room was quiet and cool. It was set out like a recording studio. The first two thirds of the room were lined with chairs facing a huge window, which was set into a partition wall, blocking off the third section. A door led through. The entire place was dark grey and soundproofed. The seated area was lit with dim floor lights, but the booth area was lit quite harshly in white light. There was nowhere to hide.  
“Interesting,” was all Nina-Serena managed.  
Smith smiled knowingly before leading the onna through the door.  
It was a one-way mirror.  
The kelpie heard Nina-Serena’s breath hitch rather satisfyingly when she caught sight of herself in the glass.  
“Oh kami,” she let out a rather endearing giggle. “That’s amazing,” she said.  
“Thank you,” Smith grinned. “But you haven’t heard the best bit. Go back out.”  
The onna hesitated at first, but did as Smith said. Of course, he couldn’t see where she was, so when he flicked the communications switch to his left, he could only see the reflection of himself and the room behind him.  
“You can hear me, Nina-Serena, but I can’t hear you. I can’t see you either.” Smith’s voice lowered. “I’m guessing you’re standing,” he paused and moved as close to the glass as he could. Placing one hand on the mirror, he moved from left to right, gently stroking it as he went, and back again. “There,” he finished, pointing as much towards the far left of the room behind the glass as he could. He turned on the sultry eyes, and stared at the place where his finger pointed.  
Nina-Serena opened the door and startled him a little.  
“Wrong,” she chided, a little annoyed.  
“Sorry,” Smith offered. “It’s like a reflex action sometimes, especially in spaces like this.” He winked.  
Nina-Serena’s nostrils flared and her eyebrows raised, albeit very subtly. Smith relaxed.  
“So,” he changed the subject. “What do you think?”

The club finally had a name, and the invitations for the relaunch were sent out. Sinner's Playground was ready, and Smith was looking forward to it. Although he hadn’t seen Trott or Sips for two weeks, they had agreed to come. Members of the court were buzzing about the new hang out, and it was set to be a spectacular night.  
The shibari artist arrived an hour before the club was opened, and Nina-Serena greeted him in the hallway rather excitedly, to Smith’s satisfaction.  
“Sjin,” he said, offering a hand.  
“Thank you so much for coming,” the onna began. “I’m a Yuki-Onna, I’ve been missing shibari art for decades! I’m so excited to see it in a different way.”  
“You’re a Yuki-Onna?” Sjin asked. “That’s unreal! I’m a Zashiki Bokko, I’m from Ishikawa!”  
Smith caught a wisp of the scent of Thurso for a moment. It was the river in which he was living when he first met a certain selkie prince. His heart beat hard at the thought of seeing him, and he retired to the kitchen to pour a glass of whiskey, leaving the two yokai to get acquainted.

As the doors opened, the kelpie stood on the pavement outside, talking to Tom and welcoming all of the guests. It was busy.  
However, Smith couldn't stop himself looking up the small alley constantly, where he knew Trott and Sips would be coming from.  
He heard laughter which caused his heart to thump in his throat. They had arrived.  
Making himself look as relaxed as possible, he turned to the sphinx.  
“My friends have arrived.”  
Tom looked up to where Smith was indicating and watched the human and the selkie turn the corner into the quiet street and towards the door.  
Trott uncharacteristically hopped a step when he saw Smith, and picked up the pace to get to him quicker. They embraced, and Smith breathed in the smell of the selkie as his head rested easily on his chest.  
Smith didn't want to break apart, but he was aware of Sips, and how much he had missed his king too. He kissed Trott on his forehead tenderly before turning his attention to Sips.  
The kelpie buried his face into the man's neck and made a small noise of affection. Sips turned to kiss him lovingly on the cheek.  
Smith led Trott and Sips on a tour of the house, and took time to greet friends and watch some of the action. Their answer for any questions about Ross was that he was dealing with an important client. Sips worried that some might be suspicious that Trott wouldn’t be dealing with it himself, but the excuse for that was that the club was even more important. It was responded to with a nod and satisfied smile.  
“You did all of this?” Sips concluded in the drawing room. “You?”  
“Yeah. It was nice to take charge of something and not fuck it up,” Smith replied, a little put out.  
“I’m so proud of you,” Trott said. He looked tired and perhaps rather uninterested.  
“Thanks, Trott,” Smith tried to smile as warmly as he could, keeping the observation to himself.  
They left early. It was only around one o’clock, and Trott said he couldn’t deal with much more of the environment.  
Smith didn’t want to say much about it, he just let them leave, and went back to the kitchen to nurse the bottle of whiskey.

He didn’t hear the kitchen door open or close behind him, from his seat by the french windows. It was the chill up his spine which caused him to turn his head.  
“I like your friends,” Pippa said, simply. There was a tone in there which terrified Smith.  
“Fuck off. Don’t you dare talk about them,” the kelpie bit, somewhat slurred.  
Pippa laughed.  
“I talked to them, they seem really lovely. I can understand why the selkie makes you so happy, though I can’t see why you insist on keeping the human.”  
Smith turned back to the garden and swigged from the bottle of whiskey. He said nothing.  
“Shame the gargoyle wasn’t here. I would love to have met-” Pippa was cut short.  
Smith threw the mostly finished bottle onto the veranda, watching it explode against the wood, and stood up to face the glaistig.  
“Enough! You don’t know anything!” He shouted, advancing a little towards her. She didn’t move.  
“Clearly I do, otherwise you wouldn’t be so angry, Colt.”  
“Stop calling me that!”  
“Why? You’ve given me no reason to call you anything else. You drift through life with no concern, no responsibility and no elegance. You’ll end up killing yourself one way or another, and destroying everything you claim to love. It’s already happening. And you know it.”  
That was it. Smith lunged forward to grab the glaistig and hurt her, but she stopped him. She grabbed his wrists and pushed him to his knees. He gave in, burning tears running down his face.  
“I can’t stop it!” He wailed. “Help me, please.” It was a desperate plea, and while he already knew the answer from the look on Pippa’s face, he opened his eyes to stare straight into hers.  
“No,” she said. Her expression was as though she’d stepped in something nasty.  
“Help me. Help with the pain, please,” Smith breathed, begging for what was coming.  
Pippa raised an eyebrow, still looking as disgusted, but also a little surprised at the realisation of what Smith was really asking for help with. She hit him hard around the face.  
Smith stopped crying immediately, and his mind started to clear. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. Pippa hit him again and grabbed his hair to pull his head back.  
“Is this what you meant?” she asked softly, yet mocking.  
Smith opened his eyes and responded, “Yes.”  
There was a curl of a smile at the left of Pippa’s mouth. “Let’s go,” she commanded.  
Smith stood immediately and followed Pippa out of the kitchen, across the floor of the drawing room and out of the door. He hung his head and didn’t meet anyone’s eye.  
“Off so early?” Tom asked brightly.  
Smith waited patiently, head to the floor, expression blank. He could feel the sphinx becoming more and more confused beside him.  
“Yeah, we’re going somewhere better. This place has lost its charm.” Smith could hear the amusement in Pippa’s voice, but remained unmoving.  
Tom laughed. Then he realised it wasn’t a joke. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded. Smith could tell he was staring.  
“We need something more, right Smith?” Hearing his name finally on the glaistig’s lips was like taking an ice bath.  
“Mm,” he grunted, and nodded his head.  
“Come on, then,” Pippa sang, and started to move off. Smith followed. “Night Tom,” she added.  
There was an uncomfortable pause. “Night,” he replied.

“Her,” Pippa stated, pointing at a dark-skinned woman who was sitting at a table outside a bar with another. Her hair was long and straight, and her blue skater dress complimented her long legs, finished off with impressive wedge heels.  
Smith waited until the other woman went to the bathroom, and took her place opposite the beautiful woman in the blue dress.  
“Hello, I don’t mean to intrude, but you look as though you would rather be somewhere else.” The kelpie took a relaxed lean forward to gaze at the woman.  
She giggled in response and her body language shifted.  
“I wanted to go to the club across the river, but Hayley says it’s too loud for her. I dunno, she can be a bit of a square, I guess.” The woman was so eager to belittle her friend behind her back, in order to seem just a little bit cooler in front of Smith. He smiled at the familiarity of the situation.  
“Well, Hayley doesn’t know what she’s missing.” Smith held a hand out to shake. “Smith,” he offered.  
“Tatyana,” the woman returned, taking Smith’s hand. It went on for a split second too long perhaps.  
“I’ve got VIP privilege at the club. I was on my way there when I spotted you, figured you might want to come along. I was going to ask her too, but from the sounds of it she wouldn’t want to come.”  
“No, she wouldn’t,” Tatyana replied quickly. “You can get VIP?”  
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. The owner gets a discount from my company.” It wasn’t a lie. The owner of the Riverbank Music Club was a regular purchaser of potions and specialist sundries from the shop, and had offered to look after any of them, should they visit the club. However, it wasn’t really in the plan, and Smith thought he should stick to it.  
“You want to go?” He asked with all the sweetness of vanilla, and Tatyana melted.  
“Yeah, I do.”  
The couple made it over the bridge, and Smith spotted Pippa waiting for them.  
“Hey, you.”  
“Hey,” Smith responded, his heart beating fast, and prickles running over his body.  
“Hi,” Tatyana said quietly, and Pippa glanced at her as though she was someone’s prized turkey.  
“This is Tatyana,” Smith explained, holding the woman by the shoulder. He had been planting soft touches against her on their short walk over the river, and felt her blood singing his name already.  
“Beautiful,” Pippa said. Smith couldn’t tell if it was truthful or not.  
“Thank you,” Tatyana accepted, although she retreated a little into Smith’s arms. But then, that was also part of the plan.  
“So, you like Smith?” That was twice in the space of two hours, that Pippa had spoken Smith’s name.  
“Yeah,” the woman murmured, and Smith took the opportunity to smile at her and trace his long fingers over her shoulder.  
“Me too,” Pippa said, in a low voice laced with meaning. It was the kelpie’s cue.  
He reached a hand out to the glaistig, which she took in hers, and they kissed hard.  
“Oh,” Tatyana reacted. She sounded more than disappointed.  
The fae broke apart.  
“Don’t worry,” Pippa said softly, “It’s just his reward for doing well. I’d prefer him to kiss you.”  
The woman was surprised, and seemed suddenly lit from within.  
Smith captured her attention fully, and stood close in front of her. He took her in his arms, and kissed her. It was more meaningful than the one he’d shared with Pippa.  
Tatyana focused on Smith, and Smith only, and her eyes glazed in the most satisfying way.  
The woman succumbed to everything Smith did to her, and seemed completely unaware that he was acting on Pippa’s orders.  
She sat on the railing under the bridge, her back leaning against the concrete pillar. It had been tagged with red spray paint; a name that was illegible. The lamps lighting the path reflected off the surface of the river water and off the green of her skirt. She sat high, reminding Smith of a statue in the centre of a fountain he knew.  
“Lay her down.” He did as he was told.  
“Use your tongue.” He did as he was told.  
“Slide your fingers inside.” He did as he was told.  
“Fuck her.” He did as he was told.  
Tatyana leaned her head back in pleasure, and reached out for a supportive hand as her cries intensified. Smith was gripping the soft skin of her inner thighs, enjoying the way the blue of her dress looked hitched up at her waist, complimenting her own colour. He was about to oblige the woman, but Pippa got there first. She knelt beside Tatyana and took her hand, but stayed wholly centred on Smith.  
He groaned in anticipation.  
Pippa lifted Tatyana’s wrist to her lips, and kissed the thin skin tenderly.  
“Oh shit.” Smith fucked harder, and Tatyana commended him by shouting his name.  
Pippa’s tongue traced over Tatyana’s wrist, and the glaistig’s teeth flashed in the lamplight.  
Smith whimpered, close to the brink of orgasm.  
Pippa bit down, and Tatyana screamed in delight.  
Smith came, and Tatyana died.  
“Thank you, thank you.” The kelpie’s head hung low, and he purred his way towards the glaistig. However, she held him at arm’s length.  
“Don’t touch me, you’ve got that all over you. It’s disgusting. Come home as soon as you’ve cleaned up, or you’ll have trouble.” And she left.  
Smith was alone, half-naked, arms outstretched like a spoiled child, and feeling less like a creature of worth than ever.

He didn’t like the way she said “home”, but he made his way there regardless. The city was quiet as it was the middle of the night, but the underworld was still awake.  
Tom watched Smith approach, and it made him feel awful.  
“Where did you go?” he asked, clearly confused, and expecting an explanation.  
“It doesn’t matter.” Smith wanted to stop any further questions. “Do you know where Pippa is?”  
Tom hesitated, clearly thinking about whether he should pursue his question, but finally said in a flat tone, “She’s in the club room. Took someone up there.” The sphinx turned away to face the street, and ignored the kelpie’s apologetic look.  
The house was half-empty in comparison to earlier in the night, but the club room was still full of life. Smith wondered if it had been a hit or not. He saw Pippa on one of the sofas with a young man. They were talking. Smith made his way over to her.  
“Smith!” One of the court members stopped him.  
Smith was pleased to see a friendly face.  
“This place is amazing, you’ve done such a good job.”  
“Thank you, Kai,” Smith started. He meant to continue the conversation, but spotted Pippa’s eyes on him. They were dark and full of warning.  
“Listen, I’ve got to go,” Smith was unsure of how to explain, “over there.”  
Kai’s eyebrows twitched into a frown, and he watched Smith walk over to kneel at Pippa’s feet. He shook his head and went back to the small group of people he was with.  
Smith hung his head, and remained where he was for the rest of the night. Pippa didn’t say a word to him, and instead flirted with the man she’d picked up from downstairs.  
At around 5am the room was empty, and the two of them stood up together. Pippa took one pitying glance at Smith, and they left the room.

He was woken up by Nina-Serena around five hours later.  
“Come with me,” she said. Her voice was soft and caring.  
Smith glumly followed the onna out of the club room, down the stairs and across the hall to the office. He thought he was going to get told off.  
Nina-Serena carried on walking past the desk, towards the cherry wood shoji screen. Smith stopped in the middle of the room, unsure of whether to keep following.  
“Come on,” Nina-Serena encouraged.  
Smith continued over to the far side of the room, and pursued the onna behind the screen.  
The sight in front of Smith was the last thing he expected. It was clearly Nina-Serena’s bedroom, but it was decorated in soft green and pink polka dot wallpaper, and the furnishings managed to resemble fluffy clouds, but it was unclear how they did this. There were stuffed animals and collectibles all over the place, and a large television facing the bed.  
“Holy fuck,” was all Smith could comment.  
“What?” the onna questioned, daring Smith to laugh at her again.  
He chose his words, “This place is amazing!” He started wandering around and taking a closer look at some of the things.  
“It’s weird enough with you being in here at all. Please don’t touch anything. There are blankets here, so I suggest you get some proper sleep.”  
Nina-Serena gathered a couple of blankets from the window seat, and lay them over the duvet. Smith watched her. When she was done he smiled as best he could.  
“Thank you,” he said.

The kelpie didn’t dare to leave the sanctuary of Nina-Serena’s bedroom until it was dark. No one came to get him, he figured they had forgotten he was even there.  
He didn’t sleep much, but thought about Pippa a lot. He wanted to hurt her, or to make her cry, or to give her pleasure. Anything that wasn’t that arrogant smile, always framed by those untidy blonde curls. What he wouldn’t do to pull them back and see even one line of a frown.  
Smith sulked into the kitchen, and accepted a plate of the tempura food that was on the table.  
Pippa slid up behind him again, and his skin crawled.  
“Let’s do it again tonight,” she breathed into his ear, unnoticed by anyone else.  
Her face was serious, and her light brown eyes shone with excitement.  
As strong as the pull was to say no, Smith nodded his head in an almost involuntary way. Pippa grinned wickedly, which was something else she rarely did. It gave Smith a flutter of delight to see it, though he tried not to admit it to himself.

It was like an addiction, but one that Smith felt was justified. It was his nature. He was a creature who fed on humans and lived for desire. Surely this was how he was supposed to be?  
He and Pippa would cruise the streets late, find a woman, seduce her and kill her.  
Pippa always chose a woman, she would never ask for an opinion either. Smith kept his head bowed at all times, at least until he was fucking. Then he’d push all the anger, shame and sadness into what he was doing, making his victim scream like she never had before. It was as though he was putting on a show for Pippa. The need to appease her was almost stronger than the hunger for anything else. However, he never knew if he’d done well or not. The glaistig would always leave him where he was, empty and covered in blood, kneeling on the asphalt or the grass, arms outstretched and pleading for fulfilment.

One night, Smith was stumbling back to the club, shirt off and bunched in his fist from where he’d tried to wash it in the fountain which reminded him of Pippa. He walked through the park, craving something comforting, but wondered what he even considered comfort. He thought of his selkie and choked.  
He sat at the doorstep of his own home, unable to go in or knock. He could smell home. It smelled as it always had, though there was a definite absence of something. Maybe it was his own smell. It must have been lost by now. He hadn’t been home for weeks. His flat was on the second floor, and he could hear vague movements and chatter. Sips and Trott were cooking. It was something spicy and sweet, like pan fried chicken with a concoction of flavours thrown in.  
Did they realise he was there? Could they sense him? Smith thought he felt the blood vial around his neck get warmer as he had approached the building, but then that could just be his imagination. If they did realise he was there, why hadn’t they said anything? Smith could only think it was some form of punishment, and headed away from home, and back into the city, to the club.

“I thought the rule was to come straight home? I shouldn’t have to remind you,” Pippa was angry.  
Smith challenged. “This is not my home. I went to my actual home, if you must know.”  
Pippa laughed. “Why?”  
Smith didn’t answer, and Pippa calculated.  
“You didn’t even go in. How can you call somewhere like that home? Don’t you get it, already? It’s over. You’re mine now.”  
Smith blinked, stunned. He opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by a heavy slap across his cheek.  
“You’re mine.”  
They were in the downstairs bar, and some of the people in there were watching with interest, some with smiles and others biting their bottom lip.  
“I’ve got something for you. Kneel,” Pippa instructed. There was still no line of emotion on her face.  
Smith felt an unknown force push him down, though he was sure he resisted.  
Pippa looked towards someone who was sitting in a darkened corner of the room. Smith saw as he came into the light that it was the same man as the night they had killed the beautiful Tatyana. He was demure and submissive, and as plain looking as you could imagine. Smith instantly hated him. It was only then that he realised that the man was handing something to Pippa. It was a bridle.  
Pippa finally smiled then. Smith did resist.  
“Fuck off!”  
Smack!  
“Get the bit in your teeth, Colt! You need that mouth shut.”  
“Fuck you,” Smith lowered his voice as dangerously as he could.  
Pippa pushed him uncomfortably against the wall with her knees. She was so strong, that try as he might, Smith couldn’t break free. He cried out, and thrashed his auburn hair against her quick, deft hands. She was too strong. There was nothing for it, he’d have to turn.  
However, as much as he willed to change his appearance, he was unable. The shock of it allowed Pippa to put the bit in his mouth and fasten the buckle at the side of his head.  
Her hot breath laughed in his ear.  
“Nice try, but your magic isn’t what it used to be, Colt.”  
Smith’s azure eyes widened in surprise. What did she know? But the question was quickly lost as Smith’s eyes were blinkered, and his blood stopped thumping through his veins. He embraced the darkness around him, and forgot everything he couldn’t see. He was led up to the club room to be paraded, and could no longer see a reason to object.

Laying on Nina-Serena’s blankets was the only comfort he had, and it still felt wrong. His wounds would be seen to by the onna, but she offered no words of support. She blamed Smith for what was happening to him. She would tell him to shower or bathe, and by the time the kelpie stepped back into the bedroom, Nina-Serena would be gone.  
Smith would sleep for a few hours, and wake at the same time each evening. After eating, his strength would come back a little, and he’d try and resist the bridle, but once it was on him, he became the colt that Pippa wanted him to be. He didn’t remember much once he’d been blinkered, only that it hurt both outside and in.  
“You’re disgusting. You get pleasure from humans, and it’s disgusting.”  
He would wake on the floor of the club room, hours later, and make his way to the kitchen, where the onna waited for him.  
Tom the sphinx never stayed after his working hours any more, he clearly blamed Smith too, and hardly witnessed what was happening in the house at all. Smith forgot him.  
He tried to forget home too, but his dreams would be filtered in shades of blue, and he’d crown Sips, smile with adoration at Trott, and cup Ross’ face to kiss.

The man popped up now and then, doing as Pippa asked, and staying silent. Smith would remember him being there to bring Pippa the tools she’d use to hurt the kelpie, and in turn Smith wanted to kill him. He showed no pleasure in what was happening, but then he showed no remorse either. It was like he was a husk of a human. Smith didn’t even know his name.  
He’d stay hidden in the shadows unless he was summoned, featureless and empty of life, and Pippa never explained him to anyone. He had seemed fairly uninteresting the first time Smith had seen him, and heard him and Pippa flirting. It was clear that Pippa had used her influence on the man too, but there was no reason why she’d let him stick around, especially after her ramblings about how disgusting she thought humans were.  
“Who is he?” Smith challenged one evening, after he had eaten, and just as Pippa had arrived, the man following behind her.  
“Who?” Pippa asked.  
“Him!” Smith drew himself up tall and pointed to the man.  
“There’s nothing there, Colt. Put your bridle on.”  
“No! Tell me who he is!” Smith advanced towards the man slowly. He showed no reaction.  
“Do we have to do this every time, Colt?” Pippa asked dangerously.  
Smith breathed hard and fast, trying to fight the will to submit. He swallowed, and collapsed to his knees, letting Pippa do what she wanted to do.  
“That’s better than usual, you’re finally listening to me.”  
Smith wondered if that meant he might be rewarded eventually. The pain helped block out other things, but that was only because it was worse. If Pippa was pleased with Smith, maybe it would finally mean she’d show him some sort of emotion. How he longed to see her as anything other than plain mean.  
He didn’t fight after that.  
“Good boy,” Pippa would wink, offering hope, but nothing came of it.  
Smith knew she enjoyed seeing him as he was, and found some pleasure in it, but he wanted to make her happy. If he made her happy, maybe she wouldn’t hurt him quite so much.  
“Please?” He asked one evening.  
“What?” Pippa was surprised to hear his voice once she had taken off the bridle. The kelpie usually just fell to the floor in exhaustion.  
“I want to-” his voice stammered.  
Pippa knelt to his level, and her face was unusually soft.  
“What?” she coaxed.  
“I want to please you.”  
Pippa smiled disparagingly. “You are pleasing me, Colt.”  
“No, I want to make you happy.”  
She laughed then. “I’ll never be happy, Colt. I don’t want anything like that from anyone. I don’t think I remember what real pleasure feels like.”  
Then she stood, walked out of the room, and Smith fell into unconsciousness once again.

“By kami! What happened here?” Smith could hear a familiar voice, but couldn’t place it.  
“This happens at least three times a week. He’s OK.” Nina-Serena was speaking.  
“He is not OK! Help me get him up.”  
“Sjin, really. He likes it, they’re happy together.”  
“Told you that, has he?” Sjin sounded a little angry.  
“Well no, but that’s what they do, right? I mean he must have a safeword, or if he was unhappy he could stop it...” Nina-Serena sounded unsure, and trailed off.  
Smith felt himself be lifted onto one of the sofas, untangled from the various harnesses over his body, and wrapped in a long coat, which Smith guessed belonged to the yokai Sjin.  
“Can you open your eyes for me, Smith?” Sjin’s voice was soothing and friendly.  
Smith’s eyes stung and watered, but he defiantly opened them to look at the two fae in front of him.  
“He always looks like this,” It was as if Nina-Serena was trying to reassure herself. Her voice was quiet, and her face full of concern.  
“I’ve been doing shibari for decades, and I know when someone isn’t comfortable. Smith is very uncomfortable, and very unhappy.”  
The kelpie’s mouth was dry, but he tried to speak, his heart pounding with the terror of knowing Pippa might be told that Smith wasn’t happy.  
“No,” he managed.  
“No?” Nina-Serena questioned, and Sjin’s face was full of worry.  
“No.” Smith’s voice returned a little. “I’m fine. I just need to see Pippa. What time is it?”  
Sjin sighed, but said nothing.  
“It’s five thirty. Everyone’s gone home,” the onna said. “Though Pippa’s still here, I think. She was hanging around with that man. They are still here somewhere.”  
There was a pause. “Thank you,” Smith said, feigning strength. “I’m going to find her.”  
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea-” Sjin started, but Smith stared hard at him, threatening him against any more advice.  
Smith walked out of the club room and went to find the glaistig. It didn’t take long. He went to the first room he was drawn to and walked in.  
Pippa was in there alright. Her hands were pressed against the glass of the grey, partitioned room, and her face was contorted in fierce bliss. She was naked, and her breasts reacted enthrallingly to every thrust of the man behind her. She was being fucked, and it looked as though she didn’t want to be anywhere else.  
The communications unit was off, and Smith was thankful for it. He stared at the glaistig’s face, her eyebrows high and her eyes closed. Her mouth shouted pleasure, and her tongue would wet her lips. Smith could see her mouth shape the word “Yes,” over and over, and he felt as though he wasn’t even there anymore. It was a dream world, and he didn’t exist.  
The man caught hold of Pippa’s waist and turned her over to face him. In her scramble to keep from falling over, her hand flicked the switch of the communications unit.  
Smith heard the cries and moans of pleasure in Pippa’s throat. It was exactly what he had always wanted to hear, he could tell that now, but he had always pictured himself being the one who would make her sound like that.  
His blood positively boiled.  
He stalked animalistically to the door and opened it. The couple were startled, and though Pippa didn’t move, the man crumpled against the corner of the room in fear. Smith neither heard nor saw anything else but the man, and he advanced upon him, tearing at his flesh and beating him to death.  
Once the red mist over the kelpie’s eyes had cleared, he heard Pippa panting behind him. He turned and saw her, naked and heaving with some sort of expression on her face. It could have been shock, passion, anger, or a mix of all of them.  
Neither of them moved, and both calmed themselves.  
“You didn’t need to go that far,” Pippa had a tone of amusement in her voice, but her face had smoothed back to serious, and emotionless.  
“I’m sorry. I wanted to be the one to make you happy. Now I can.” Smith tried his best to sound as convinced in his own words as he wanted to be.  
Pippa looked him over for a while, her lips turning thoughtful. Eventually, she stood up straight and made to walk over to Smith. He didn’t need to be told. The kelpie went to his knees quietly, and waited.  
Pippa’s hand came out to touch his cheek, and her fingers moved up to weave in his auburn curls. She pulled his head close to her stomach, and Smith felt the ever so slightly saturated texture of her skin. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her. It was a mix of freshwater and sex. His tongue involuntarily came out to taste her, and she reacted with a sigh of pleasure.  
Smith went to touch her, but she batted his hand away. Smith blinked once and tried again. Pippa knocked him away again. She laughed.  
“Please,” Smith’s voice wobbled.  
Pippa laughed again.  
“But this is so much more fun, Colt.”  
Again with that name. Smith sighed in frustration.  
“You need to be punished for killing poor Ezra,”  
So the man had a name, and it sounded like he was allowed to keep his original one. Smith chewed his cheek.  
“And you need to be punished for taking so long to find me. I had to pretend I was enjoying it for way longer than I expected to.”  
Smith was shocked then. His bright eyes looked up to Pippa, and she was sneering back at him. He understood. Pippa hit the comms switch on purpose. Of course she did. She wanted to do nothing but hurt the kelpie, and give him absolutely nothing in return.  
She laughed loud, and her dirty curls shook around her face.  
“Stupid kelpie. You signed your death warrant months ago, but never knew. It’s finally time for you and your court to pay for all the shit you’ve pulled, but I want to make you suffer just a little longer before I kill you.”  
Smith stood to make the first move, and try and catch the glaistig by surprise, but she was too quick. Her fist connected with his cheek, and it immediately swelled. With one blurry eye, Smith went to strike back, but was hit with a hard object of some kind, rendering one arm practically useless. The object came down on his back, with a heavy force. Pippa screamed with anger and hate as she hit him three more times, and Smith started slipping back into darkness.  
There was a sudden sound of smashing glass, and of splintering wood, Pippa screamed again, but this one had a tone of shock. There were sounds of frantic movement, and of grunting voices.  
“Get away from him, you fucking bitch!”  
That voice was enough to make Smith laugh with pure joy, and his good eye opened to see the shapes of his court. There were three figures.  
One stood leaning in the doorframe, grinning with malice, his arms folded and a cap sat on his head, watching the fight.  
One was smaller than everyone. He was the one who had spoken. His selkie skin made him look more majestic than Smith had ever remembered him before. A metallic blade in his hand caught in the light as he stepped towards the crazed glaistig.  
The third figure was harder to define, but it was clear that Pippa was most afraid of this one. It was tall, and almost took up the whole room, especially with that tail.  
Smith concluded that he was dreaming in his last moments before death, and as he imagined a bat being lifted into the air by the gargoyle in front of him, he embraced unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on Tumblr if you'd like to know some of my inspirations. Hope you enjoyed this, and let me know what you think. Next part is on its way! It might not take quite as long to be written, but then it might.....


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